Unrequited
by clockworkindy
Summary: Abridged fic. 'I see a spirit dying to live, I see an explosion of colour, I see denial and weakness and I see the man I would do anything for.' YBxMI


Down town in Cairo, in some shoddy Korean Karaeoke bar. Marik, acting as if he were off his face with a single gin and tonic, belting out an array of 80's hits that were better forgotten to time.

And Bakura sitting, watching in the corner and coddling his rum. Watching the way the coloured lights flickering from the inappropriate music clips reflecting on his sweat slicked stomach. Listening to how often he got the lyrics wrong, not bothering to look at the screen, proclaiming each and every song as his jam, so full of life and energy and everything Bakura secretly envied.

Such an idiot. Such a wonderful beautiful oblivious idiot.

'What do you see in him?' He asks himself. The answer is simple.

I see conviction. I see someone who knows what pain is and shines through it. He would have answered if he could. I see a spirit dying to live, I see an explosion of colour, I see denial and weakness and I see the man I would do anything for.

Had he been asked this by someone who wasn t himself he would have replied 'I don't know what the bloody hell you re talking about'.

But even Bakura knows there's no sense in denial, no logical reason to lie to himself. The more time, much to his chagrin, he spent with his fellow evil counterparts, the less he found he could get away with when he watched him. They got suspicious, who wouldn't? So he had a backup answer as well.

'Have you _seen_ his midriff?' Simple enough, he really was attractive as sin and he wasn t lying. Not a proper answer either, but who bothered with trivial matters like that? Really now, the things he would do to him if he weren t so oblivious and trapped so far in the closet.

Marik takes a drink of water to his parched throat, letting a fair portion of the contents roll down the front of his body and onto his collar and under his shirt, trailing ever so deliciously over his skin. Fuck.

'When are you going to tell him?' He asks himself. 'When am I going to tell him what?' 'That you're attracted to him of course.'

The answer, he hoped, was never. He'd tried time and time again to let him know he was there, that he was his friend and more if need be. If he wanted it.

Bakura is a master of subtlety. Marik is not. Bakura was also never one for expressing his emotions. Marik though, he brought out the best of him. The part that made him care about someone that wasn t himself for the first time in five thousand years.

Sometimes Bakura would question if this really was the best , often it felt like the worst.

Which begs the final question he always grills himself with.

'Do you love him?'

'Of course not' Comes the reply as automatically as clockwork, but lately he hasn't been so sure of himself. Up until a little while ago the attraction had been merely physical. Oh he denied it. How could he be attracted to someone as downright frustrating as Marik was? The more he thought about it though the further he fell. It was a frightening thought, being so alone for five thousand years and then finally needing someone. And it was true, as much as he didn't want it to be. He needs Marik. He needs to be annoyed by him, to be pestered and bothered and cared about. It makes him sick to his stomach.

Marik finishes yet another tuneless song and sits himself unceremoniously next to Bakura, taking one last sip of water.

"Haa We're almost out of time and you haven t sung one song all night!' Marik complains, pushing a mic to Bakura s face. He simply rolls his eyes and pushes it away.

"I don't sing." He assures him for the millionth time, a vague hint of a threat in his words. Marik pouts and takes the mic back into his own hands. "Besides, this is what you wanted to do."

"Well yeah, I thought we could do something, like best friends do, right?" The word friend stings to Bakura, an unwanted reminder that there wouldn t be an once more than friendship between the two, not as long as Marik was so in denial.

"And this is something we ve been doing, _as best friends_." Bakura retorts, spitting out his words more than intended. If Marik notices he certainly doesn t say so.

"Well we've got time for one more and I'd really like it if you could sing with me..." Marik pulls out his best pout and directs it at Bakura. Once upon a time it had no effect, but ever since the unwanted feelings started he found himself a slave to his words. Bakura sends him his best glare and snatches the mic right out of his hands.

"It better be something decent." He growls. Marik runs eagerly up to the touch screen and flicks through for one last song.


End file.
